Past Time
by Dead Fairytales
Summary: It's often misleading what newlyweds do in their past time. [Sasuhina x Serial Work]
1. Once

**__**

Past Time

I set everything away.

You're not home.

I worry. I had put my tea down, sat, and waited. I closed my eyes and counted the seconds that had gone by since you had left. Seconds would turn into minutes, and then minutes would soon turn to hours. Soon I will worry if it will take days; weeks, months, or even years till you come back. I stood up, opened my eyes, thinking that maybe you were there. Maybe you didn't leave, we didn't fight- or didn't fight, and left the issue alone- even if we did need to discuss it. We do need to discuss it. We need to talk, something we haven't done yet.  
  
We're too quiet, polite, and empty.

We're too alone, hopeless, and lie.

Maybe tonight, the lights will be left on.

I had a quick peek outside. You're not there. Only the empty humming silence of insects, and dancing of lights. Only nothing important.

You're not home.

So I cry.

**__**

**_[Authors Notes] _**_Bah. Too bad suckers. It was gonna be a Paradise Kiss piece but I changed my mind and I will now litter the Naruto space with some more Sasuhina goodness. That's right you morons. It's Sasuhina, and you can't do shit about it. Heh, and yea. I do reliaze I did put some synonyms in. Shut-up. It's called an effect._


	2. Twice

It was their wedding, and it should of been one of the happiest moments in her life. White dress, a lovely chapel, a handsome groom that she loved, and happy faces everywhere.  
  
White dress.  
  
A private ceremony in a Cathedral.  
  
A groom.  
  
Solemn faces everywhere.  
  
Her large family and Kurenai-sensei. Him, Kakashi-sama, and a cloaked figure in the back, who she knew shouldn't have been there. This was her wedding. Robotic claps, appreciative glances, and customs. Dreary white and black. No kisses. No laughter. No smiles. This was it; a handsome groom that didn't love her. A handsome man that she didn't love, or know.  
  
Marriage was the worst thing that happened to them.  
  
Or so they thought.

* * *

Coffee.  
  
Black, hot and strong.  
  
His morning cup. After a small bowl of rice, soup, and assortment of side dishes, that he liked, and water. Then coffee. To brighten his mood up from the little sleep he had in the cold bed, in a even colder room, a foot apart from a warm person. The gap was too little. He needed to be away. He needed to be even colder. He need less sleep. He didn't need her.  
  
Tea.  
  
Light, warm, and calm.  
  
She ate very little, consuming less than half off her bowl, was quiet, obedient, and soft. She cleaned up after him, and cleaned the house after he left, even though there wasn't much to clean up. Their house was expansive and wide, clean and empty. It was quiet. She would cook and cry in her spare time.  
  
It was too cold.  
  
Sighing, she put her cup down and turned to face her husband. Dark circles under his eyes, dark hair hiding his eyes, lips pursed stiff into a line as he gazed into the morning paper- or so she thought. A strong callused hand picking up his cup. Taking a sip, his light pink lips just grazing the cup as the brown liquid seeped in them.  
  
She stared.  
  
"When do you think you'll be back?" She asked almost inaudible tone.  
  
He shrugged. "A week." He answered not taking his eyes off the paper. She nodded, and carefully set her tea down, clutching the handkerchief tightly in her hands. She twisted it nervously, her empty eyes concentrating on the wall to her left. He glanced at her. Nervous. He set his cup down. "What is the matter?" He asked.  
  
She stiffened and stopped her movements.  
  
Silence  
  
"Father," She began after moment's of pauses. "Is expecting a baby in a year." She looked towards his cup. His hands.  
  
He sighed, got up and left.  
  
She cried again that night.  
**_  
[Authors Notes] _**Honestly. I don't know. 


	3. Thrice

When she cries- it's usually out of fear.

She fears all the men in her life, and she doesn't want to end up getting hurt. She's been hurt more than once- and more than enough to have learned her lessons many times through.

She's quiet and distant with him, because she is afraid that any quality of hers will be end of this silent, cold, and unfeeling relationship she has with her husband.

She tries hard to satisfy him. To follow his robotic ways, the silent motions he goes through everyday. She learns by observing him quietly with pale violet eyes that are burning with red because the lack of sleep she is getting everyday. She stays up late, stiff and still, because she is afraid he will doing something like run away or turn, face her, and hit her.

She does this because she doesn't want to get hurt.

So she stays away.

_This is the only free time I have. I usually spend it with friends- but I came home early today. I'm usually on the phone, but my fucking idiot of a father took my cell away because I told him to stop saying something because it was fucking annoying me. Fucking ass hole- you do not mess with a bitch on PMS. So this is what you get, and my father is going bald because I'm setting his fucking hair on fire. Why? Because Bush won._


End file.
